“Everything is about sex except sex: sex is about power” – Oscar Wilde.

When Random House signed E. L. James to a seven figure, multi-book deal for her Fifty Shades of Grey series in March 2012, it was a shot heard around the publishing world. Not only had fan fiction now become fair game as a method and expression of creativity, it had now become a lucrative vein of ore just sitting there waiting to mined by a myriad of publishing houses.

Although the story behind Fifty Shades is by now a familiar one of a forty-something mother of two becoming a worldwide sensation by writing Twilight fan fiction, the fever surrounding the series has still not died down. The trilogy spent an astonishing six months on top of the New York Times and Amazon best seller charts and, in turn, dominated the international and national consciousness. Undoubtedly, it is the erotic nature of the content that has drawn the most media attention to the series since its release. With one film adaptation already gracing our cinema screens – and two more in the pipeline – will this domination will be letting up any time soon?

The legacy of Fifty Shades of Grey – particularly in the adult entertainment industry – poses the question as to whether whether James’ best-seller is a positive and honest reflection of female sexuality and sexual experience. Particularly when taking into consideration its origins as fan fiction, and the narratives that these fan communities create.

The online community is acknowledged as a female-dominated space, and one of the primary activities in which females engage is the reading and writing of fan fiction. Whereas fan fiction can be explained as literary explorations and creative interpretations, its progressively popular subset of slash fiction – that is, homoerotic fan fiction – has raised the collective interest of both fans and academics from the get-go. When taking into account slash’s predominantly heterosexual female community of readers and writers and its same-sex narratives which subvert canonical media texts and characterisations, discussions relating to sex, gender and sexuality have become commonplace when the genre is discussed. At the same time, the genre invites scholars to engage with it: stories which address gender and sexuality and aggressively rewrite the source text provide quintessential examples of subversive and queered readings.

Discussions of slash have become central to fan studies scholarship, focusing on fan identity, feminism and the role of women within a creative community. Early slash fiction consciously utilises male protagonists and the male body to envision ‘ideal’ relationships and fantasise about sexual experimentations within the masquerade of a deeply committed relationship.

Joanna Russ’s essay “Pornography by Women for Women, with Love” (1985) encompasses the nature of its argument within the title itself. The provocative use of the word pornography is noteworthy in the context of passionate debates on pornography fought within the feminist movement. In addition to her overt pleasure within the text – ‘I love the stuff, I love the way it turns me on’[1] – Russ emphasises the empowering nature of sexual fantasy, particularly when coupled with a community of women – women as writers, editors and readers – free from the restrictions imposed by commercial culture.

For some women, fandom participation is credited with helping them to discover and learn about their own sexuality and gender beyond the confines of media and cultural representations of both. A study by Heather J. Meggers in Fan Culture: Theory and Practice (2012) offers an insight into the sexual liberation fandom participants have experienced through writing and reading these narratives:

‘I feel as though fandom has brought many things to my attention. It has allowed me to talk about/discuss things that maybe I wouldn’t talk to a person about face to face, but when shared through the common interest of the particular fandom are much easier to mention. […] I’ve found sexuality is much more fluid than I would have thought before I became active in fandom […] The internet allows people to talk about sensitive and difficult things.’[2]

Feminist critics, such as Russ, are fascinated by slash stories because they offer an insight into female sexual fantasy; formulating a medium that contains elements of sexual experience that mainstream media – such as the male dominated industry of pornography – purposefully excludes. For example: the lovers demonstrate an interest in each other’s minds and emotional states, not solely each other’s bodies. In the present day, there still remains a glaring lack of queer representation within mainstream franchises in spite of fan-fiction increasingly becoming a known quantity in the public eye. One particular pairing gaining notoriety at the moment is that of Poe Dameron and Finn of the Star Wars canon, playing on rumours that Star Wars could introduce its first gay characters. J.J. Abrams is behind this, stating:

‘Of course! When I talk about inclusivity it’s not excluding gay characters. It’s about inclusivity. So of course. I would love it. To me, the fun of Star Wars is the glory of possibility. So it seems insanely narrow-minded and counterintuitive to say that there wouldn’t be a homosexual character in that world.’[3]

Needless to say: fans have responded in droves. In turn, these fans have augmented the theories of Russ and her feminist counterparts by depicting Poe and Finn’s relationship as erotic but – above all else – a relationship of equals. Poedaaaayuremon writes:

“But Finn trusted Poe, trusted him with his life, mind and spirit. And as he stood there in the dim hallway, looking into the other man’s kind, warm eyes, he realised he completely trusted him with his body as well […] “You’re absolutely perfect,” Poe finally said, finally joining Finn on the bed, kneeling between his thighs […] “Absolutely beautiful, I mean it, Finn. You’re stunning”’.

Russ perceives slash as a response to the deeply felt desires of its female writers and its readers for ‘a sexual relationship that does not require their abandoning freedom, adventure and first class humanity […] sexual enjoyment that is intense, whole and satisfying […] and intense emotionally’[4] denied to women within commercial pornography, and further taken away from them as stories such as Fifty Shades of Grey are published as opposed to their slash fiction contemporaries. Poe/Finn once again serves as a leading example, as lillianwrites’ narrative Come Home details this particularly touching moment between the two:

The slash fiction genre embraces the possibilities of ‘a fluidity of erotic identification’[5]: a notion at the heart of the theoretical discipline of queer theory. The community of writers of straight, lesbian and bisexual women actively and self-reflectively discuss queerness, the social constructions of gender and the politics surrounding sexuality. Noy Thrupkaew notions in Media Reception Studies that ‘Slash enables its writers to subvert TV’s tired male/female relationships while interacting with and showing mastery over the original raw material of the show.’ Thrupkaew claims that such fiction produces a ‘richer sense of possibility than duplicating the well-worn boy/girl romances coughed up by most TV shows.’[6]

As opposed to interpreting the absence of romantic entanglements as heteronormativity, fans recurrently appropriate the empty spaces within the source text and redefine it against its social context. Female slash writers use and subvert the traditional gender paradigms, thus enabling female readers and writers to identify with both characters as they are writing a pairing of equals, rather than only finding familiarity with the stereotypical subversive female recurrently found in narratives.

‘“Hey, can I…?” It takes a moment for Poe to realise Finn is asking permission to move lower. Finn’s hands smooth over the cut of his hips […] “Yeah,” Poe breathes, too fast not to be desperate. He feels dizzy watching the open delight on Finn’s face, the slight knot of concentration between his eyebrows. “Yes, please.”’

Generally, in the public eye, heterosexual romance can only occur between individuals who are, inherently, not equal: with the woman as the weaker and more submissive partner. Slash fiction focuses on two men of equal power, with narratives exhibiting a fluidity between the two genders and traits which could be commonly associated to both. As heterosexual women can rarely have a truly equal relationship with a man, they write their desires onto their chosen slash fiction pairing.

Slash fiction, like romance, is commonly represented outside its reading communities as immature because of its undiscriminating and excessive investment in popular culture by women: a polar opposite to bro geek culture which is celebrated. Yet fan fiction is also represented as a secret substitute for real and romantic relationships. Culturally, women are socialised to view sex in terms of relational intimacy, romanticism, commitment and – above all – private: posing the question as to whether slash fiction is private due to its participants or its content. Designating some norms, behaviours and characters as normal and others as abnormal – and, in turn deviant, is connected to systems of power.

The notion of power is of particular interest to French philosopher Michel Foucault, who claimed that power ‘traverses and produces things, it induces pleasure, forms knowledge, produces discourse.’[7] To control, punish and repress behaviours and identities, they must be identified in contrast to the supposed norm: in this instance, slash fiction is juxtaposed to commercial pornography and, in turn, the pleasures of women are placed under scrutiny. Foucault argues that ‘power is essentially what dictates its law to sex. Sex is placed by power in a binary system: licit and illicit, permitted and forbidden.’[8]

Slash writers have traditionally been understood as embarking on subversions of the dominant hierarchy, challenging gender norms and exploring both masculine and feminine experience. In turn, slash fiction (as a writing practice) and its corresponding female community has successfully carved out a discursive space that enables a freedom of sexual expression outside the reaches of hegemony, yet sadly occupying the illicit position in Foucault’s binary.

These overriding concerns of pleasure, power and their relationship to one another are central to academic readings of fan fiction and slash fiction in particular as narratives which demonstrate a more equal sexual relationship remain in the private sphere of fan fiction, whilst Fifty Shades of Grey gains publishing rights and popularity in part due to its saucy – and dominant-subversive – content. New York University professor, Katie Roiphe, suggests that Fifty Shades has become ‘the modern woman’s bedroom fantasy’[9], in spite of the wealth of slash fiction stories on the internet clearly suggesting otherwise.

The bottom line is, slash fiction enables its readers to fill in the gaps and bring to light the queer subtext: an act that hegemony and power prevents. The fact that slash fiction continues to be theorised as “resistant” and – in some cases – “deviant” is testament to a notion of reader/text engagements as interpretative as opposed to interactive, and to an overriding refusal to acknowledge where and when queerness manifests itself. Slash fiction has been valorised as a rebellion against the canonical text. It is a medium through which its writers can scavenge for textual crumbs that become the raw materials for creative reworking. The only governing body in slash fiction are the female writers and the readers who choose to join them for the ride.

Like this:

“If an item does not appear in our records, it does not exist.” — Jocasta Nu, Jedi Archivist in Star Wars Episode II: Attack of the Clones

Within the fictional world of Star Wars, Obi-Wan Kenobi arrived at the Jedi Archives seeking the location of the planet Kamino. Because vital, accurate information did not appear in the records of the archives, Nu declared Kamino’s absence from the archives meant Kamino’s non-existence.

But Kamino did exist; the archival records documenting its existence had been purposefully erased in order to keep it hidden from those conducting research.

Eventually, Obi-Wan found the planet — and the Clone Army being developed there. But the archives and Jocasta Nu failed him.

In non-Jedi, Earth-based archives, the absence of a particular community or group in the archival collection can lead researchers to make a similar determination. Historians and other archival researchers often work with the records that have been acquired by formal archival repositories. These records can include letters, diaries, photographs, artifacts, websites, and other documents that contain and convey information. And archivists — those professionals tasked with acquisition of records for the archives — have not always collected widely.

Traditionally, the archival record focused primarily on the work of government along with “important” citizens (typically, white men in positions of power). In 1970, historian Howard Zinn addressed the Society of American Archivists, the oldest and largest association for professional archivists in North America, imploring them to “take the trouble to compile a whole new world of documentary material, about the lives, desires, needs, of ordinary people.” [1]

Many archivists in recent years have turned their collecting efforts to these “ordinary people” whose stories were not documented in the archives. Many of these more recent archiving efforts have focused on specific racial or ethnic groups or LGBTQ communities, often with a heavy focus in a particular location or geographical area. For instance, in 2011 the University of North Carolina at Greensboro launched its African American Institutional Memory Project, focusing specifically on documenting the lives of African Americans who attended the school during the 1960s.

The stories of marginalized communities and subcultures, however, will remain hidden and can disappear from the historical record altogether without a significantly greater emphasis throughout the profession on preserving the records produced by these groups. The transitory nature of digital records commonly created today adds to the fragility of these stories.

The Records of Fan Communities

As with any subculture or community group, the disappearance of records in both digital and non-digital formats can impact (and has impacted) the history of fandom and fan communities. Unlike many social groups and communities documented by some archival repositories, fan communities, particularly in today’s world of social media and web forums, often are not tied to a specific location or geographic area. Additionally, they may be somewhat exclusionary and untrusting of those who are not expressed or accepted members of their particular community. Yet, as with many groups, their histories are often actively being maintained from within the community itself.

Archiving within the community helps ensure the materials are collected but may not always consider issues of long-term access or preservation.

Many fans have developed their own web-based archives to collect stories, recordings, writings, and other records documenting their subculture. These websites serve as a vital hub for the community’s memory, but they may not provide the level of long-term preservation that an archival institution can. Web hosting services open and close, and users are subjected to the hosting services rules and regulations. Hosting services or website creators can choose to shut down a site with little to no notice. The rise and fall of GeoCities web hosting service provides a clear example of the impermanence of the web. After 15 years of service, Yahoo’s GeoCities closed after a six-month notice in 2009 with at least 38 million user-built web pages. It was thanks to the efforts of web archiving services like the Internet Archive that those sites are available to view today. Similarly, LiveJournal, in an action now known as “Strikethrough ‘07,” deleted without warning many blogs on its site after a religious watchdog group reported that many NC-17 fansites were hosting illegal materials. [2]

Other digital records are also quite ephemeral in nature. Software and hardware obsolescence can quickly make digital records inaccessible. Simply buying a new computer might mean that older digital files are lost if the user chooses not to migrate them. A Wordstar document saved on a 5.25” floppy disc is not going to be easily accessed or read on a modern computer, but an archival institution may have the digital preservation skills and equipment necessary to rescue the data from the floppy disc and convert it into a readable format.

Audio-visual recordings similarly face a short life span. Cassette tapes, for instance, have a lifespan of approximately 10 to 30 years depending upon the quality of the cassette tape used, the manner in which it stored, the number of times the cassette has been played, and many other factors. Compact discs have a longer, but also finite, lifespan, with estimates of accessibility ranging between 50 and 200 years. Concert recordings originally created on cassette tapes, for instance, should be migrated to a digital format and onto a secure server — which, of course, then circles the preservation concern back to the obsolescence issue inherent in digital records.

Paper-based records also do not last forever, although they are more likely than digital or audio-visual records to survive in an accessible state without explicit intervention.

The short-lived nature of paper records is particularly true with items that are were created to be used and useful for only a short period of time, as is the case with many of the records of fan communities. Many items collected by or produced by fans are printed on low-quality paper that is highly acidic, meaning the particular piece will be quicker to degrade than the higher-quality paper used in many professional publications. A flyer advertising a band’s performance at a local venue is only meant to last a short period of time; once the show is over, the flyer has served its purpose. Why would a promoter or band spend the extra money to print these ephemeral records on higher-quality paper? Yet when we want to study the history of that band or that musical venue, those flyers — if they have survived — can be absolutely vital to research.

Enter the Archivists

Archivists are professionals trained in the acquisition and management of records that have enduring value beyond their original purpose of creation. These records document people, places, and events which are necessary to remember in order to convey a rich and complete history. The archives in which these professionals work are often found in libraries at colleges and universities, but public libraries, historical societies, and other cultural heritage organizations often employ archivists and actively collect these types of records. In an archive, one can find a wide range of records, from print publications to personal correspondence to audiovisual recordings to websites. Because they work with large amounts of these types of records, archives often have the skills and equipment needed to access and preserve records stored in more challenging formats or on obsolete media.

Many archives and archivists are actively working with members of specific subcultures — including various fan communities — to ensure their histories are preserved for long-term memory and research. Some have developed programs solely focused on documenting specific fan groups. These programs work with the fan communities to ensure their records are preserved in a stable way. Sometimes the impetus for building the collection arises from within the archival institution, but often it represents a collaboration between the archives and community leaders who have already been (or see a need for) actively documenting their community history and productivity. Some archives focus on local fan communities, but others look more broadly, moving beyond geographical lines.

In some cases, the archivists themselves may be members of the fan community they are working to document.

Examples of archives focused on fan communities are as diverse as the communities themselves:

The University of Louisville Archives and Special Collections launched the Louisville Underground Music Archive (LUMA) project in 2013 to record the history of Louisville, Kentucky’s punk, indie, and hardcore music scene and its impact more broadly on popular music regionally, nationally, and internationally. LUMA’s ongoing work has been guided by archivists and academics as well as local musicians, record store owners, and record label owners who are vital in building connections within the local underground music community. This collection contains recordings, posters, t-shirts, set lists, and flyers, as well as business records and websites related to the Louisville music scene.

The Cushing Library at Texas A&M University has one of the largest science fiction and fantasy research collections in the world, including the papers of prominent science fiction and fantasy writers such as George R. R. Martin, Michael Moorcock, and Robert A. Howard. But the Cushing also actively preserves a variety of fanworks, including fanzines, fanvids, and filksong. The Sandy Hereld Collection contains thousands of fanzines and newsletters from the 1960s to the 2000s, documenting fan production related to Doctor Who, Star Wars, Miami Vice, Starsky and Hutch, and many others. The Susan Frank Klingon Collectioncontains fanzines as well as filksong recordings and songbooks.

The University of Iowa Special Collections and University Archives also documents science fiction literature, television, and movie fandoms, including collections from fans of Farscape, Man from U.N.C.L.E., Highlander, and more. The James L. “Rusty” Hevelin Collection of Fanzines contains science fiction and pulp literature fanzines dating back to the 1930s. The archives also partners with the Organization for Transformative Works (OTW) on the Fan Culture Preservation Project, which seeks to preserve non-digital fanworks, including printed zines, fan artwork, and convention materials. [3]

The Grateful Dead Archivesis a more narrowly-scoped archival project at the University of California at Santa Cruz Special Collections Library. This project began with a donation of the band’s archives (business records, photographs, promotional materials, etc.), but quickly grew to include Grateful Dead-related content solicited directly from the fan community. The archives’ website encourages fans to digitize and upload their audio recordings, video recordings, and their written memories of the Grateful Dead directly to the archives. The archives and its website are also supported in large part by financial donations from the Grateful Dead fan community.

This is only a very small representation of the many fandom collections that can be found in archival repositories across the United States (and, of course, many more exist in other countries).

Beyond the Archives

Documenting any community within a formal archival repository, however, can be problematic. Quite often the materials being collected by one fan as a means of documenting the community were actually created by another fan or contain in part the work of another fan. The creator fan may not have intended for their work to be distributed outside of the fan community and may be opposed to the idea of an academic researcher being able to access this information through an archival repository. Some may have produced or published in fanzines anonymously or pseudonymously, only to have their name attached the work once it is donated to the archives.

The best of intentions in attempting to share information broadly and document a fan community may in fact infringe upon someone’s personal beliefs and desire for privacy.

Many archives and fan communities are now exploring a middle ground between fan-managed community archives and archives within a formal archival repository. Instead of managing the physical collection of records within the archival repository, archivists are working with the community members to support their ability to preserve and provide access to records that remain within the community members’ custody. The fan community is managing their own records, but the archivists are providing their professional guidance and support. Often the archival repository is providing access to the records in a mediated way or through digitization efforts. This management model is known within the archival profession as “post-custodial,” emphasizing the fact that the archivist is no longer seeking to gain physical custody of the materials.

The post-custodial concept was coined in the early 1980s, with archivist F. Gerald Ham introducing the phrase “post-custodial era” in as a solution to the ever-increasing number of records being created in the federal government. Ham argued that “although once valuable, our perception of ourselves as custodians has now become a deterrent to the effective management of the national record.” [4] But it was only in recent years, with the commonality of digitization and providing online access to reproductions of records physically held elsewhere, that the mindset really gained footing within archival practice in the United States.

Although still not widely practiced throughout the profession, many archivists who focus on documenting specific community groups now utilize the post-custodial model to ensure that these records are preserved and accessible while also keeping the original records themselves in the hands of the community members themselves. This practice not only

“addresses the ambivalence that many communities feel towards depositing their archives in formal heritage institutions, but it also avoids the need for professional archivists to make difficult and often upsetting decisions about what is worth depositing and preserving.” [5]

Don’t Be Kamino

A fan looking to ensure the long-term preservation of and access to their community’s work can take a number of routes to help preserve the community’s history. The Organization for Transformative Works and their Archive of Our Own serves as a repository for fanfiction, and a fan can create a collection on their site to serve as a central hub for collecting digital fanworks. Through their Fan Culture Preservation Project and collaboration with archivists at the University of Iowa, the OTW can also serve as a hub for transferring non-digital fanworks to a formal, physical repository that will preserve and provide access to the records long-term.

Fan communities with a specific geographic focus may also find assistance from local archival repositories, often found at colleges and universities, public libraries, or historical societies. The professional archivists at these repositories are able to provide guidance on donating the materials to the archives or in managing the records outside of the formal archival institution. The archivists will ask about the nature of the records themselves — how much material exists, are the records digital or not, are records still being actively produced by this community, etc. Working together, the archivist and the potential donor can determine the optimal course of action for being sure the records and the work of the community are preserved in the best way for all.

With the active work of the fan communities themselves, many records of fandom will continue to be transferred to archival repositories, and many archivists will continue to provide these physical records to researchers for their work in exploring historical contributions and impact of the fans in a multitude of ways. With a post-custodial mindset, the records of a fan community need not be transferred to an archival repository in order to be preserved and accessible. Regardless of the physical location of the original records themselves, the need for documentation in some way by someone is critical in order to ensure the continued history of these fan communities. If one does not ensure the community’s records are preserved and accessible, that fan community might see itself in the role of the Star Wars planet Kamino, with its existence erased and (nearly) impossible to find.

Erin Lawrimore has worked as an archivist in academic libraries since 2003. She’s currently the University Archivist at the University of North Carolina at Greensboro. When not talking about archives, she enjoys spending time with her corgis Franny and Jasper, volunteering with the Carolina Basset Hound Rescue, and collecting for what is likely the world’s largest collection of Battle Corgi original artwork.

Like this:

Into every generation, a fan is born. In my case, it was Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Should I spawn future generations, you can bet what I’ll pass down will be a longstanding, deep-seated love of the Buffster; until then, I’ll just have to settle for recruiting all the kids I babysit to the Scoobies.

But while I have experienced the sense of enthusiastic community that fandom generates – mostly via Tumblr, fanfiction.net, and AO3 – I haven’t personally experienced what it’s like to be a second-generation fan. What is it like to grow up in a family where you inherit not only the shape of your eyes and nose and that weird preference for the combination of chocolate and orange juice, but also an allegiance to a book, a movie, a TV show?

I asked four of my friends — all parents who passed down their fandoms to their children — about what that experience is like. We talked about The Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter, and Star Wars, three fandoms I’ve belonged to at some point or another in my life.

Teaching morality and passing down storytelling traditions

I spoke to Louie Tracy Coates, the mother of my friend Angharad, and Jonah Sutton-Morse from the website Book Punks about how they incorporate Lord of The Rings fandom into their lives and the lives of their children. “I talked to my kids about The Lord of the Rings from the time they were infants,” says Coates, a mother of three now-grown daughters.

She recounted summers spent in Maine, reading the stories of Bradbury and Lewis, and eventually building up to Tolkien. For Coates, fandom seemed to be a way of teaching her children about the world and morality through stories:

“I find a purpose in science fiction and fantasy – good versus evil, and in spite of many trials, goodness and love will overcome evil and hate. And that sometimes, someone (or several people) must give up something that they desperately want in order for the many to survive and continue. The Pevensey children must die in order to stay in the new creation of Narnia; Frodo (and all the Ring-bearers) have to leave Middle Earth for the Grey Havens; Captain America lives in a world that he no longer understands, and with people who really don’t get him, in order to save humanity. All of these ‘fandom’ things come out of Joseph Campbell’s analysis of mythology and the hero’s or heroine’s journey to enlightenment.”

Sutton-Morse, by contrast, introduced his kids (known as “Tadpole” and “Sprout”) to Middle Earth as a means of making long car rides bearable:

“Tadpole didn’t want to get in, didn’t want to get buckled, and fought during the ride. So out of sheer desperation & remembering Tolkien’s impulsive ‘In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit’, I repeated those words.”

The effect was, to put it simply, pretty magical. He explained to me what elements helped make the story stick for his four-year-old daughter: The structure and repetition of the entrances of the dwarves in The Hobbit; swapping out the colors of each character’s cloak as they were introduced; the hilarity of “careful, careful with the plates!” as Thorin & Co. ransacked poor Bilbo’s hobbit hole; and, of course, the songs.

For another friend, Rory D., passing down Star Wars to her son made him a second-generation fan: “I’ve always been a fan, as has my family. My sister is seven years older than I am, so basically I wanted to do and watch anything she did.”

Her son was introduced to the series when he was a newborn, and has been hooked ever since.

“He was always amazed by Star Wars. Something about it grabbed him in a way that none of the other science fiction/comic series that we enjoy did. I think it’s because, unlike a lot of these movies, Star Wars – at least the first one – is watchable at a relatively young age.”

Kristan Melo has been a Potterhead almost as long as Harry Potter has been around, and spoke to me about her efforts to engage her five-year-old son, M., in the world of witchcraft and wizardry. Melo, a school psychologist and writing consultant at the Institute of Writing Studies, described to me the gradual path toward getting M. sorted:

“I tried reading him the books, but they had no pictures so he wasn’t having it. Then I watched the first three movies with him, and he was decently interested but said it was a bit too scary for him, so I didn’t push them further. Plus, watching the movies first ruins the mystery of the books!”

Now, they’ve started reading the illustrated books at bedtime, and though his interest in the series hasn’t yet reached Potterhead levels obsession, M. is definitely interested and asking questions. “He asks a lot of questions about how they look,” Melo says. “I’ve shown him the movies, and also fan art and merchandise, and I’ve introduced him to the new Hermione,” — who, it was revealed last month, will be played by Black actress Noma Dumenzweni in the upcoming play Harry Potter and the Cursed Child, a casting decision supported by J.K. Rowling.

“I tell him a character in a book can be pictured lots of ways and there’s no wrong way or right way to picture the person. It’s what you want the person in your head to look like. With Hermione, I explained about actors and how different actors will play the same person.”

Melo took the opportunity to talk more about representation in media, and the layers of complexity Hermione portrayed by a Black actor will add to the wizarding world.

“For M., though, I related it to our tradition of the Elf on the Shelf this past Christmas,” Melo says. This year, the Elf on the Shelf was brown skinned, like M., who is mixed race, of white and indigenous Latino heritage. “So I was like ‘You know how you were happy that your elf looked like you? This makes little girls who look like the new Hermione happy.’”

Passing down diversity in fandom

Representation is an important part of Sutton-Morse introducing fandom to his children, too. The most interesting part of his version of Middle Earth is that for Tadpole, Bilbo – along with Merry in the later books – is a girl! I asked Sutton-Morsehow he address the more problematic elements of a given fandom with impressionable young minds, particularly from a feminist standpoint.

With The Lord of the Rings, the two active female characters, Galadriel and Eowyn, are the only two with anything resembling a substantial part to play in a large ensemble cast otherwise made up of male characters. Not to mention, brown people are coded as evil and corruptible, whereas every stalwart and true hero is very, very white.

Because Sutton-Morse and his child are retelling rather than reading, it’s a little easier for them to take some liberties for diversity’s sake. Their Tom Bombadil, for example, is dark skinned with tight curly hair, “though I don’t know how much Tadpole picks up on that,” Sutton-Morse admits.

For Melo, the problematic elements she tries to address include representation of women as well as people of color. As a single mother, Melo says, “One of the things that I’ve been thinking about lately is that….well Harry Potter is a boy, obviously (so already we have another boy hero). And he’s an orphan and a good part of the dynamic in the book is him essentially looking for a father figure, and that kinda resulted in him idolizing the men around him..” Eventually, she continues, Harry realizes that none of these influential men in his life are perfect (although Snape has an opposite trajectory over the span of the series, which has been rightfully critiqued allovertheplace).

“But what about the women? What about Hermione? What about Luna? McGonagall? Tonks? Molly? These are fierce badass women, whom Harry has momentary feelings of admiration for, but it’s not highlighted in the way it is with the men. I mean, all the people in power, in the highest up positions, even the villains, are men. Where there’s a Tonks, there’s a Kingsley who becomes Minister for Magic. Where there’s McGonagall, there’s Dumbledore. Where there’s Molly, there’s Lupin and then Sirius. Where there’s Luna, there’s Neville. Where there’s Hermione, there’s Ron. Don’t get me wrong, I love ALL these characters, but the men are placed in a higher up position, they’re more idolized, more revered. Even with Hermione, Harry certainly admires and appreciates her usefulness and loves her dearly, but when it comes to the heart of it, Ron is his best friend. So I sorta plan to make up for that all by highlighting these women on my own. Because these women are fierce, and my son needs to know that there are women who are just as fierce or fiercer than the men. That women are heroes just as much as men are.”

Coates, by contrast, took a different approach:

“I have to say, I don’t have a real problem with the lack of female characters,” in Lord of the Rings, she says. “I think I emphasized the qualities of the characters more than their gender to my kids. Being all girls, they still loved to hear (and in the case of Alison, read) the books. And as far as racial ‘themes’ go, I don’t think that Tolkien or Lewis really gave it much thought – and I do think that we need to stop applying 21st century thinking to older literature. We can read these works, appreciate them, and acknowledge that their authors were a product of their times.”

For D., addressing the problematic elements of fandom still lies ahead for her and children. “My children are very young, and young enough for even a basic conversation about feminism to go over their heads,” she says. “As a result, I believe that the best thing for us to do for the moment is to be good role models ourselves and address questions and concerns as they arise organically.”

Luckily, Star Wars is a franchise that at least seems to be changing as the call for more diversity begins to be heard. The Force Awakens, with its self-reliant, no-nonsense female Jedi Rey, and Finn, a Black former Storm Trooper who portrays vulnerability, rather than simply being coded as aggressive and dangerous, will, for example, undoubtedly give D. plenty to talk about — and celebrate — when she and her child eventually are ready to start having critical discussions about the movie.

Passing down fan-works and con activity

Participating in fandom can be both an extremely personal, and extremely community oriented activity, and I wondered what it is like to share that among family. Do Coates, Melo, D., and Sutton-Morse take part in conventions and cosplay with their children? Do they bond over fanfiction and other fan works?

Since Tadpole and Sprout are still so young, they haven’t been part of the wider fan community yet – although Sutton-Morse, has written about incorporating the world and stories of Middle Earth into their lives.

“Tadpole doesn’t want to make up stories, but sometime she outlines bits of the plot to other people, and I think I’ve heard her telling the stories in her room when she thinks I’m not listening,” Sutton-Morse says. “It’s kinda surreal sometimes to hear my 4-year old inform a shopkeeper that her (deceased) cat has gone to Valinor, or remind me of something I had Gandalf tell Pippin at some point, that ‘it’s always important to have hope, and to keep trying and hoping’ in a non-The Lord of the Rings but contextually appropriate way.”

D.’s Padawan, by contrast, is stretching his wee-author’s fanfiction wings, and is writing a story on a blog with his mother’s assistance. The family also watches the movies together, saving the scarier parts for after her youngest daughter has gone to bed. The kids also spend hours constructing Star Wars themed Lego environments to play with with their dad. When I asked if her experience of the fandom had changed since she shared them with her kids, she said it hasn’t, at least not directly yet.

However, “I do love to watch as he plays in his imaginary world and to see what speaks to him and compare it with what spoke to me at the same age,” she says. And the excitement of watching Star Wars:The Force Awakens was only amplified by her son’s enthusiasm, “largely because we were able to share the experience with him, we did the whole thing up – even getting matching shirts and going to the fancy dinner theater.” So it sounds like for D., at least, cosplay and conventions could be in the cards for the future.

Though Coates’s daughters are grown, she’s had a similar experience over the years regarding how her children’s experience of fandom has shifted her own understanding of it. “My children’s experience of The Lord of the Rings did change slightly the way I saw it,” she says, “since I realized that not everyone loves the things I love.” Of the three, her daughter Alison is the one who took most to The Lord of the Rings: “She got into fandom completely, and was even known as Arwen at Mt. Holyoke,” Coates says.

And, along with other The Lord of the Rings fans at college, drove up to Montreal to hear Howard Shore perform the music from the movies, as well as making a trip to Hartford for a 10+ hour movie marathon of all three extended edition movies.

However, “Angharad, viewed The Lord of the Rings in a similar manner to the Harvard Lampoon’s Bored of the Rings – very satirical and sarcastic,” Coates says. And The Lord of the Rings isn’t the only fandom the family is a part of:

“My youngest, Elaine, is a fan of other things, notably Harry Potter – which she got me into. We dressed up as Harry Potter characters on several occasions. I usually dress as either Professor McGonagall or Bellatrix Lestrange.” Coates even dressed up as Bellatrix for Alison’s wedding website when her daughter married in 2012, although she admits, “it did cause some talk.”

Christina Tesoro is a writer and sex educator. She has written previously for The Toast, The Establishment, The Rumpus, and Cosmo, and runs the blog Along Came Poly. She tweets, sparsely, @storyqday.

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The way we as fans consume mass media is changing, and television is the latest medium to feel the shift. The success of streaming services has lead to the rise of binge watching, with fans watching an entire season of programming in a compressed period of time. Where once we waited with baited breath for each new episode, now we turn watching TV shows into an almost cinematic experience, devouring the entire storyline in one go rather than stretching it out.

A case could be — and has been — made that we are living in a second golden age of television; serialized storytelling given the rise in non-traditional producers like Amazon and Netflix. The mass appeal, high writing and production quality, and viral buzz around envelope pushing programs have fed new expectations for television.

Boardwalk Empire’s Nucky Thompson

In this new age of TV, few figures loom as large as the antihero. Bad men and women are often held up as favorite characters, loveable despite themselves or so wicked or complex that their moral failings can be forgiven time and time again. A trend that can be pinned to the late 1990s HBO shows The Sopranos and The Wire, and in its contemporary realization in the 2007 premiere of AMC’s Mad Men, with the dapper and damaged Don Draper. Breaking Bad’s Walter White soon followed, along with Game of Thrones’ Jaime and Tyrion Lannister; House of Cards’ Frank Underwood; Boardwalk Empire’s Nucky Thompson; and the BBC’s Sherlock Holmes. Although still underrepresented in the “so-bad-you-have-to-love-them” realm, women like the recent Netflix heroine story Marvel’s Jessica Jones have also gotten in on the complex and dangerous appeal.

How Binge Watching Brings Complex Characters To Life

Binge-watching makes telling these stories not only more appealing, but also easier, in a sense. Fans that watch episodes in succession are able to hold onto subtle plot points and themes more easily than those waiting multiple days for the next installment, at least up to a point. As fans sit with characters for multiple hours in one sitting, it’s possible to flesh them out incrementally without losing the plot or their place in the story, giving the antihero the space it needs to become a fully realized character, rather than just a simple trope. Writers are able to devote less time to refreshing the plot and more time to developing complexity, nuance, and twists that keep the show fresh after episode three, four, or five.

Although having a moment today, the antihero isn’t new to storytelling. The idea of a charismatic protagonist or key character that is not particularly heroic or upstanding has been around since ancient history. What’s more, this isn’t the first time in recent history that the antihero has risen to the top of the pack in terms of popular characterization.

In post-World War II America, cinema was dominated by heroes who were at their most endearing lovable rogues and at their most damning murderers in cold blood. From the bristly characters that made Clint Eastwood a star to the complex and short career of James Dean, the public embraced challenging protagonists with an edge. Film noir, Westerns, crime dramas — they all were built on heroes who weren’t heroic, who had dark pasts or something from which they wanted to run.

It was a cynicism that reflected the world in which the films were made, dominated by conflicts like the Vietnam War and rising crime rates into the 1970s. It could be said that during the middle years of the 20th century, American and global filmmakers were working through the crisis of identity many were facing in a world that felt on the edge of anarchy.

Why Fans Root For The Bad Guy

So what is it that we as fans love about bad guys? People we would inarguably not want to spend time with, date, or work with have become iconic figures, and our love of complex characters has even given rise to multifaceted portrayals of superheroes like Batman and Deadpool in film. Rather than heroes to whom we can look up, pop culture provides us with broken and complicated figures that offer an outlet to explore our own darknesses, our own impulses, and our own limits.

But is there more to learn from the baddies we adore? Given our current adoration for fully realized fictional people, are there lessons to be applied to real life about humanity, history, and the complexity of human experience?

Some of the most beloved antiheroes in pop culture start from a more idealized or historical place. Don Draper is the perfect 1960s man, cocktail in hand and cigarette hanging from his lips. He’s handsome, with a beautiful wife and two sweet kids, his career on a near-constant upswing.

Nucky Thompson is a bootlegger and Tony Soprano is a mobster, two of America’s favorite romanticized criminals. Jaime Lannister is a shining knight, one of the most iconic heroic tropes.

But as soon as the sense that you know these characters is established, that image begins to deteriorate: Jaime Lannister is in love with his sister and willing to kill a child to protect their relationship. Nucky Thompson walks the line between good and bad, having rivals murdered alongside abusers and handing out money to those in need. Don Draper is a philanderer, haunted by his own past. It’s as if a veil has been pulled back, showing a darkness we never could have imagined.

Perhaps one of the most valuable lessons that can be learned from fictionalized historical narratives is that people often painted in broad strokes are capable of good, and that traditional heroes are capable of bad. Fictionalized characters can provide a richer context for day-to-day life, reminding us that even the most reviled figures in history are ultimately human.

Good, Evil and the Shades of Grey In Between

Narcos’ Pablo Escobar

That ability to shape the way we understand and learn about history stretches beyond stereotypes, however. Biographical works have provided a framework by which fictionalized retellings can help probe the darker parts of our heroes’ lives, but they can also expose something human in villains. Netflix’s Narcos is a prime example of this challenging, but ultimately valuable, juxtaposition. The show dramatizes Colombian drug lord Pablo Escobar’s rise to power, and the DEA agents who worked to bring him down. Responsible both directly and indirectly for the deaths of thousands, Escobar is one of the classic manifestations of evil in recent history, a key player in the drug trade that nearly destroyed Colombia.

Pablo Escobar, like Al Capone, captures the imagination in a unique way. In films like Blow or the Colombian tv show El Patrón del Mal the cartel leader is viciously barbaric or deceptively unthreatening respectively. But in Narcos, the drug lord (played by Werner Moura) is given space to be human. His love for his family, playfulness with old friends, and intelligence are juxtaposed alongside his brutality.

In a key scene, after Escobar has been elected to the Senate only to be forced out within moments, the sudden twist from extreme pride and excitement to disappointment is moving. But the realization that one is sympathizing with Pablo Escobar’s crushed political ambitions is disorienting, illustrating the ability of such stories to challenge our perception and force us to embrace nuance.

With the overwhelming sense of despair that often dominates current events, it’s easy to see why the antihero would rise again as a more relatable figure than black-and-white good guys. These figures help make sense of a world that seemingly makes no sense, and provides reassurance that even those with moral failings are capable of doing good. In the antihero narrative arc, we can see shades of the world around us at a time when believing in a righteous hero seems naive and disingenuous.

These shows could also encourage us to see past unidimensional characterizations of both good and bad public figures, search for larger contexts for solitary actions, and ultimately craft stances that take into account seemingly conflicting dichotomies as well as the fact that understanding is not synonymous with condoning behavior.

If the immediate effect of the antihero is ultimately about making us feel a bit better about ourselves, them the larger impact of antihero narratives could be much larger. With history often told as linear with clearly drawn lines between good and bad, returning to familiar figures with a more human lens can help us embrace nuance in our everyday lives.